Like Lightening
by fiinnharries
Summary: "Colpo di fulmine. The thunderbolt, as Italians call it. When love strikes someone like lightning, so powerful and intense it can't be denied. It's beautiful and messy, cracking a chest open and spilling their soul out for the world to see. It turns a person inside out, and there's no going back from it. Once the thunderbolt hits, your life is irrevocably changed."


epigraph ::

 _"Colpo di fulmine. The thunderbolt, as Italians call it. When love strikes someone like lightning, so powerful and intense it can't be denied. It's beautiful and messy, cracking a chest open and spilling their soul out for the world to see. It turns a person inside out, and there's no going back from it. Once the thunderbolt hits, your life is irrevocably changed."_

― J.M. Darhower, Sempre

::

LAURA

In the May of my 17th birthday, my mother had announced over our chicken and mashed potato dinner that we would be living with our dying 85 year old grandmother in London.

Peter had groaned and I sighed into a bite of steaming mashed potatoes.

"It's only for the summer, alright? Grandma just needs some care and family for a while, that's all." My Mom ran her hand through her gradually graying hair. "London is a nice place, isn't it, Nick?"

My dad nodded and gulped down his milk. "Great place."

London was very, very far away from the tiny New York apartment my parents owned, and my grandmother was a very, very interesting grandma. My grandma had long, tangly white hair with crooked teeth- she was one of those old people who sent those old vintage greeting cards with a check for $20 every Christmas and birthday, usually with a long eligible note scribbled on top of the printed message inside. I remember flying over to see her in her townhouse in London when I was about 7 and being bitten by 1 of her 3 pugs- 3 terrifying, carnivorous pugs who roamed her messy house. My grandma was the epitome of kookiness, and I would be living with her for 3 full months.

But she was my grandmother, nonetheless, who had cancer and was indeed my mother's mom.

"Mom, grandma is ...a lunatic." Eight year-old Peter had muttered.

"Well, listen son- your mother thinks you're a lunatic, so that's no surprise." My dad told him.

"Thanks mom." Peter smiled his gapped teeth.

"We're going to try to move immediately after the school year ends, if that's not too hard for us to do."

"Mom, that's in only 2 weeks." I swallowed my mashed potatoes whole.

"Listen, Laura, there's not much to pack. We're only staying for 3 months."

"What about summer, thought?" I worried. "Summer here, mom?"

"I'm sure Stacy's Ice Cream Parlour will be fine without you working there this summer." My mom sighed. "There's always be another sketchy ice cream shop in London that you can work at, I'm sure."

"Right."

"It'll be fun, right? New friends, new faces. Accents!" My mom forced a grin. My mom still had traces of her native British accent, so I was sure that wouldn't be all that exciting.

"Plus, Peter, Grandma has loads of renovations to do to that shack of hers before we put it up to the market. That'll be fun, right?" Dad slapped Peter's slumping back.

"I guess."

Peter balanced his hand on his head of blonde hair and sighed.

Mom looked hopefully at Dad from across the table, and then at me.

"How does that sound Laura?"

"It's alright, I guess." I shrugged. "It's not like I had much going on anyway."

I really didn't. Ana was traveling to god knows where all summer, so it's not like I had any friends to be with. I didn't want to take summer courses either, so it left me working minimum wage at the ice cream parlor.

"I know theres some kids your age on Grandma's street too, so I wouldn't worry about not having friends to ... do chill things with." Dad grinned, obviously failing at strutting his acclaimed 'cool dad'.

Last summer I went for about 2 months before talking to anyone my age. Without sounding like the relatableteen twitter profile, summers were for locking myself in my room and watching Parks and Rec and rereading the Anne of Green Gables series. Of course, day after day my Mother will poke her head into my stuffy bedroom and question if I was depressed. ("You haven't talked to anyone for days, honey." "That's sort of the point, Mom." I'd say under my blanket cocoon with the light of my old laptop highlighting the deep bags under my eyes. "Laura, just talk to someone, I don't even care who. Get smoothies with Ana, go shopping, get a boyfriend- anything other than what you're doing now.")

"Right, cool dad." I rolled my eyes. "I'll find the hippest kids on the block."

"How do you feel Peter?" Mom concerned.

"I dunno." Peter shrugged.

Mom looked at Dad and sighed of defeat.

"I'm really sorry that this was so sudden, just... Grandma needs us."

I got up from the table and and put my plate that was clean of mashed potatoes and chicken into the dishwasher, Peter following me with almost a full chicken leg left.

"I'd start getting your things together this week, Laura, Peter." My mom told us.

"But finish the dishes first, kids." Dad muttered. "or we'll leave you in London forever."


End file.
